


Always

by FoxVII



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, phil gasmer being a dork, rip hunter being a dork, sara just wants her rip back, the real one rather, time family shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxVII/pseuds/FoxVII
Summary: It started off as amusing for all parties involved.Well, all parties with the exception of Rip Hunter. Or rather, Phil Gasmer, as he was so insistent on being called. As the days wore on it became increasingly clear that Rip was not going to be returning to his normal self anytime soon. Or at least, not without serious aid. And truly they needed,desperately, to find a way to fix him, because Sara was nearing her wit's end. It wasn't just that she missed Rip - the real one - it was becausePhilwas, embarrassingly, obviously,hilariouslyflirting with her.





	Always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nellywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellywrites/gifts).



> Written for the DCCW rarepair swap. Prompt by @starcitysirens! I hope this was what you were looking for!

It started off as amusing for all parties involved. 

Well, all parties with the exception of Rip Hunter. Or rather, Phil Gasmer, as he was so insistent on being called. It was as hard to get used to the new name as it was getting used to the sudden American accent. (Jax, ever the conspiracy theorist, began to wonder if the British accent was real to begin with.)

Though, as the days wore on it became increasingly clear that Rip was not going to be returning to his normal self anytime soon. Or at least, not without serious aid. A punch to the head wouldn't work - Mick had tried - so they all resigned themselves to having to deal with Phil for a time longer, until they could figure out how to reverse the damage of the time drift. 

And truly they needed,  _ desperately, _ to find a way to fix him, because Sara was nearing her wit's end. 

It wasn't just that she missed Rip - the real one - it was because Phil was, embarrassingly, obviously,  _ hilariously _ flirting with her. 

And not well, either. 

It first became apparent after a mission. They were moving crates of iridium (a substance that was as rare as it was heavy) away from a warehouse in 1801 (having appeared two years sooner than it was supposed to have been found). Rip appeared just as Sara hefted a crate that was a third of her height but seemed to weigh three times more than it ought to. "H-heyyy," he said, with forced calm. "Can I....help you?"

Sara blinked at him once and nodded at the other crates. "Yeah. Sure. Grab one of those other ones and follow m--"

Rip was already moving, trying to take the one that Sara was already holding. "Here, lemme get that for ya--" He barely got a grip on the thing before he started to tilt sideways. "Ooh holy shit--!"

Sara snatched it back before Rip could be crushed under its weight. She shot him a faintly annoyed look before she remembered to reign it back into something that was closer to the territory of exasperation. 

"Uhh, yeah that's heavy," Rip said, eyeing the thing as though it had personally insulted him. A far more starry-eyed gaze was directed at Sara. "You're strong."

Another blink from Sara. "Maybe you should go help Stein. He's taking measurements of something...on something. For something? Just something. Go."

"Right-o."

It got increasingly awkward after that, with Rip appearing whenever and wherever he could. On the bridge he tried to impress Sara with some useless fact or another and leaned against the navigation console wrong, shooting them to Italy, 1505, where the Waverider very nearly decapitated the statue of David. 

Then, there was the time he showed up while Sara was talking to Ray and poked the wrong button on the A.T.O.M suit and blew a hole in the side of the hull. 

Oh, and Sara wasn't ever going to forget the time he accidentally walked in on her bath and fled the room, screaming apologies.

She didn't see him for a full week after that, not until he appeared suddenly on the training deck while she was in the middle of her daily exercise routine. He awkwardly bobbled along the edge of the practice mat, trying to look nonchalant and whatever version of 'cool' he was aiming for (and failing at). "You can fight."

"Uh," Sara looked down at the batons in her hand. "Yeah."

"Rad." And that was another thing that no one was getting used to - the 80s slang. "So, like, d'ya think you could show me a move or two?"

While it occurred to her that Rip, as he was now, was nothing but a liability - and thus could use some self-defense lessons - she shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea right now, Rip."

"I'm not--!"

"Not Rip Hunter? Yeah that's the point." She regretted the words instantly as his face fell, but firmed her jaw against the onslaught of sympathy. She knew what it was like to be lost and Rip-as-Phil was about as lost as lost could be. But she didn't need Phil Gasmer, part time filmmaker and recreational drug user. She needed Rip Hunter, friend and captain. 

It wasn't all bad though. Phil was a rather talented baker (or perhaps, the real Rip was too, but circumstances hadn't really leant them time to learn about it) and once he'd been thoroughly chastised by every member of the Legends he had relegated himself to kitchen duty. The crew was greeted with cupcakes one morning. A double portion was made for Mick and Ray - to accommodate for appetite and general cupcake love respectively - while Sara got a three-tiered cake decorated with white icing and fondant birds, bows and flowers. A cake which, as Phil specified, was just for her and her alone. 

Of course that meant that nearly half the cake mysteriously vanished before Sara could help herself to a second slice. 

Then, there was the time when they learned that Phil-Rip was something of a musician, too. He'd found a guitar somewhere or other and took to a corner on the bridge, strumming and singing softly. Sara had walked in first and froze, entranced by the melody. Ray had come in after that, followed by Stein, then Jax, Mick, Nate, Amaya...They had all applauded once he was done - much to Rip's flustered pleasure - and if anyone had noticed that he'd spent the latter half of the song singing  _ at _ Sara, they deigned not to mention it. 

 

***

 

There was one last, fleeting bright spot before things went to shit. It was the moment that Sara heard Rip's voice again, his real voice with its smooth (presumably natural) accent.  _ Her _ Rip. She whipped around, the smile on her face beyond her ability to control. 

And then just as fast as he'd 'reappeared', he was gone. Snatched away before she could prevent it. The Waverider peeled away, vanishing into the time stream. 

Later that evening, numb feet took Sara down to what was Rip and Phil's room both. The doors swished open gently to admit her. 

The room was a strange mix of orderly and chaotic. Parts remained entirely untouched and neat. Rip’s collection of memorabilia remained precisely where Sara had seen them last. A few statues had cleaner streaks on them: sections where fingers had grazed it, curious, testing, as though memory could be restored through touch.

Sara ran her own over a globe which sat atop Rip’s dresser. It spun under her fingers, smoothly swivelling into a turn. Her hand dropped to her side and Sara walked to the room’s middle, turning once in a slow circle.

The hope had been that, upon being surrounded by familiarity, that Rip’s memories might’ve been restored. Obviously that hadn’t been the case. From the looks of things, Phil used little but the bed itself. Perhaps he walked around and explored, but for the most part, Rip’s things remained untouched. Sara mused that, to him, it must’ve been like being set up in a stranger’s room and examining things with only the politest curiosity. Touching, seeing, experiencing without fully  _ prying. _

Sitting in the mess of sheets was a stack of bound paper: Phil’s screenplay. The edges were heavily curled, a result of the anxious twisting it had suffered many times under his hands, as the stack was rolled, unrolled, and rerolled. 

Sara stepped over, turning her head to look at the title without touching it.

_ ‘Rip Hunter and the Spear of Destiny’ _ , the title read. Sara snorted.

Another step and she was close enough to drop her weight on the edge of the bed. She bounced once, reaching out to take the script in hand, giving it look that was some combination of bemused and saddened.

She opened it, choosing a page at random.

 

_ FADE IN: _

_ TIDERIDER - MAIN CORRIDOR  _

_ Rip and Sandra enter the Tiderider in a rush post-mission. The lights are dim and she strides ahead of him, clearly agitated. _

 

**_Rip:_ ** _ What the hell happened back there? _

**_Sandra:_ ** _ You know that I'm a killer. That's why you picked me to be in your little group. _

_ She keeps WALKING ahead of him _

**_RIP:_ ** _ That wasn't the actions of a killer. That was...an animal _

_ Sandra STOPS and TURNS around, POINTING an accusing finger at Rip. _

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ You are the last person on this ship to judge anyone! _

**_RIP:_ ** _ This is not judgement, Sandra, this is concern! _

 

Sara snorted another laugh. Rip...no,  _ Phil _ , really had put their adventures into a screenplay. She remembered this day. She remembered coming back from the disaster at the bank, furious at herself, ashamed that she’d lost control, all the while still riding the residual tide of her anger.

 

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ Apparently there's a downside to being brought back to life. My friend Tia calls it a bloodlust. And I think that's being too generous. So is calling me an animal. I'm a monster. _

_ Rip strides forward, reaching out to take her WRIST in his hand.  _

**_RIP:_ ** _ You are not a monster. You're one of the most remarkable people I've ever met, Sandra. _

 

She blinked and reread the last line. Her memory wasn’t  _ perfect _ by any means, but she could’ve sworn that Rip had neither reached for her, nor had he said something quite so…

So what? Sweet? Romantic? Surely not the latter.

But then...if  _ Phil _ was so drawn to her then…

Sara turned her attention back to the script, flipping ahead. She skimmed over it for the most part, her attention lingering now and again whenever Rip and Sandra shared a scene. She wondered if this was how Rip had truly seen her. Sandra was strong and smart, resourceful, proficient fighter and somehow perfect in a way that was, at once, flattering  _ and _ irritating. 

The rapid flutter-turn of pages finally ceased as Sara came to the scene that she had both hoped would appear...and dreaded.

 

_ TIDERIDER - SANDRA’S QUARTERS  _

**_RIP:_ ** _ Please try very hard not to kill me. _

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ Rip. Please take me back. I need your help. I need to save my sister. _

**_RIP:_ ** _ You know that I would do this for you, Sandra, but I just can’t... _

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ I have never asked you for anything. And you of all people should understand... _

 

Her throat tightened as the sorrow spilled over anew. Recovering from Laurel...or -  _ Laura’s _ death, in this case - was a continuing process. Eternal. Neverending. She seriously doubted that she’d ever fully get over the loss of her sister. Laurel had been everything to her. Rival, role model, protector, guide…

A tear fell onto the crisp page and Sara quickly brushed it away before it could blot the ink.

 

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ Rip I have to be able to do something. _

**_RIP:_ ** _ I'm so sorry. _

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ I can't...I can't do this without my sister. _

**_RIP:_ ** _ Yes you can. You are one of the strongest people I have ever met, Sandra.  _

_ Rip reaches out to WIPE a TEAR from her face. His hand remains, cupping her cheek. _

**_RIP:_ ** _ Laura may be beyond your saving but Kendal and Carson...they might not be. _

**_SANDRA:_ ** _ Rip, I… _

_ Rip leans forward, pressing a KISS to her mouth-- _

 

A jolt and then Sara was snapping the document shut, all but throwing it away from her. Her heart fluttered rapidly and she stared down at the screenplay’s cover in disbelief. Suddenly she was ten years old again and caught in her sister’s room reading her diary. Of course, it wasn’t quite as private as that...if the timeline hadn’t been reset, then the Legends of Rip Hunter would’ve been made into a proper film and Rip and Sandra’s kiss would’ve been aired for the entire world’s viewing pleasure.

All the same, she couldn’t help but feel she’d taken a look into something that Rip as Rip would never have allowed her to see. 

Gingerly, she set the screenplay on Rip’s bedside table. For a long time she only sat, and looked, and thought. Eventually, she fell asleep there, nose buried in Rip’s pillow, and when she stumbled out of his quarters groggy the next morning, it was with renewed vigor. 

They  _ would _ find Rip Hunter and bring him back.

And when they did...Sara Lance had some questions for him.

 

***

 

Months - or perhaps it was only a matter of weeks...the passage of time was difficult to track when one lived outside of it - later when they finally did track down Rip...and were able to successfully  _ recondition _ Rip - because when, oh  _ when _ was anything easy for them? - Sara finally succeeded in cornering him in the mess hall.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

It was a simple enough declaration, but with the way that Rip was staring at her, horrified, with the spoon halfway up to his mouth, dripping milk back into the bowl, she might as well have accused him of murder. 

“I have not,” he finally said, once he’d recovered his voice. 

“You have,” Sara countered, steadily. Her arms remained where they were, crossed over her chest. 

Opting not to turn the situation into a childish series of 'did not's and 'did too's , Rip tried a different tactic.   
  
"What makes you think that I'm avoiding you?"  
  
"Oh, the fact that after we had everything with the Spear and the Legion resolved you haven't said a word to me? Or that whenever you see me coming down one hall you go fleeing down another?"  
  
"I do not flee!”  
  
"You flee. Like a bunny. So are you gonna tell me _why_ or do I need to start getting the knives?"   
  
Rip seriously doubted that Sara would ever start swinging at, or throwing deadly weapons with the express purpose of injuring him, but he took the casual threat as a sign of her frustration and dropped his spoon back into his bowl. He stared morosely at his now-soggy cereal, trying to come up with a clever way of saying that he was still recovering from being an utter embarrassment as his stoner alter ego and...  
  
Well. The script had still been sitting at his bedside table when he'd finally taken to his quarters again. He had desperately hoped that his interlude as Phil Gasmer was all part of some horrible nightmare, or some exceptionally creative torture tactic by the Legion of Doom.   
  
The script was solid proof that it hadn't been. Meaning certain....secrets were all but admitted to in the interim. If Sara had seen the thing she would've noticed the tender turn that had been applied to every scene with 'Rip' and Sandra.   
  
Rip chewed on his lip and finally pushed the bowl away from him. "Alright. Sara, I know you can remember my behaviour as...Phil, and that you've probably read that blasted screenplay and I deeply, deeply apologize if I've caused you any discomfort by anything I've said or written. I, quite literally, was not in my right mind and I don't expect you to--"  
  
He stopped his tirade, looking up appalled at the sight and sound of Sara laughing. His heart took a dive out of his chest and plunged somewhere in the territory of his stomach, sinking to the bottom like a rock.   
  
Lovely. He wasn't just an uncomfortable embarrassment. No, he was a total _joke_.   
  
Brilliant.   
  
Sara shook her head, unbound curls flying about her face with the motion. "I'm sorry, no. I didn't mean to..." Another chuckle wracked her slight frame and Rip's frown deepened as he stood from the bar stool.   
  
"Well, now that we've established that I'm _hilarious_ I'd like t--"  
  
A soft mouth against his silenced him as well as anything could. He stilled under the gentle touch, doing a rather fantastic imitation of an Easter Island statue as his higher brain functions flat-lined.  
  
Sara pulled back, her brows pulling together, knitted, no doubt, from the confusion his non-reaction had caused. For the tiniest second confusion deepened into the sorrow of rejection and...well.   
  
He couldn't have that.   
  
Suddenly Rip was all motion. His hands rose to cup her face, dipping in to chase away the sadness with a kiss. And then another. And then a third. Then one to either cheek, her forehead, a bit lower down to that adorable dimple on her chin...  
  
Sara was giggling again, trying to match him kiss for kiss, her hands gently cradling his elbows. "So all of this time you assumed that, what? I felt different? That I thought less of you for being human?"  
  
"That you could do better," Rip supplied in a low murmur.   
  
Sara promptly swatted him. "None of that, Rip. I don't care if I need to beat it out of you or kiss it out of you, but you're not gonna do your self-depricating bullshit with me, okay? I won't allow it." Pushing up to the tips of her toes she pressed her forehead to his, her hands sliding up to curve around his arms, holding him close. "Besides...the play was cute. How am I supposed to say 'no' to something like that, huh?"  
  
Rip wrinkled his nose but couldn't find it in him to pull back even though all he wanted was to hide his face. "Please don't. That thing was an atrocity."  
  
"It was not. I mean, we do have some amazing adventures. It'd make a great movie. Or TV show."  
  
Rip groaned. "I think I'm happier with things being just how they are, thanks."  
  
"Uh huh. So what were you planning on doing after Rip and Sandra's kiss? Were they going to run off into the sunset together?"  
  
"I think that was supposed to be in the sequel."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Rip Hunter and the Much-Needed Vacation."  
  
Sara laughed again. "I think I'd like that movie."  
  
"We could plan it together, perhaps?"  
  
"That soun--" A tremor rocked the ship and both nearly tumbled to the floor. As it was, they remained standing only because of Rip's sudden grip on Sara's waist and Sara's arm bracing against the bulkhead behind them.   
  
_"Captains,"_ Gideon broke in, smoothly. _"We seem to have a problem."_  
  
Sara twisted around to bump her nose against Rip's, chasing his mouth down for another kiss before she squirmed away. "Put the vacation planning on hold for now. We got work to do, Captain."  
  
"Don't we always, Captain?" Rip asked, feeling a bit dizzy and giddy all at once and doing a rather poor job at keeping the ridiculously happy smile from his face.   
  
Sara turned to regard him thoughtfully.   
  
_"Always."_


End file.
